


Traces

by super_queer_hannibal_obsession



Series: We Are Stronger Together [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Flirting, Fluff, Healing, Kissing, M/M, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Psychological Trauma, Sexual Abuse, Touch-Starved Bucky, bucky has complicated issues with touch and pleasure, bucky loves steve and is trying, hand holding, steve just wants to love him and make things better, steve loves bucky, stevebucky - Freeform, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14156160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/super_queer_hannibal_obsession/pseuds/super_queer_hannibal_obsession
Summary: This fic is inspired partially by a poem by Margaret Atwood that I have always loved that is posted at the beginning of the first chapter.Bucky and Steve are in Wakanda, or at least Steve is there, too, part of the time. They are trying to navigate their own healing as well as healing together and what a relationship between the two of them looks like now. Mainly from Steve's point of view, this fic looks at how they would manage to work towards an intimate physical relationship after everything Bucky has been through. Lots of angst and fluffy moments include, and some smutty stuff further down the line.





	1. Golden

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mainly Steve/Bucky focused fic that might have some relationships aspects with Tony and T'Challa down the line, too, but is mainly exploring the Steve/Bucky dynamic in the time right before Infinity War. There will likely be other characters from Black Panther that make appearances here and there, too, but not in a shipping context.
> 
> This first chapter is pretty mild, but there might be some more intense content down the road mainly in flashback or in conversations between them where they talk about Bucky's trauma, and I will tag those as they come along.
> 
> This fic was also inspired by many, many talks I've had with a friend about Bucky and his trauma and how he and Steve would deal with it.
> 
> Later chapters should be longer, but I'm just getting back into the swing of writing again!

_ your back is rough all _

_ over like a cat’s tongue / I stroke _

_ you lightly and you shiver _

_ you clench yourself, withhold _

_ even your flesh _

_ outline / pleasure is what _

_ you take but will not accept. _

_ believe me, allow _

_ Me to touch you _

_ gently, it may be the last _

_ time / your closed eyes beat _

_ against my fingers _

_ I slip my hand down _

_ your neck, rest on the pulse _

_ you pull away _

_ there is something in your throat that wants _

_ to get out and you won’t let it. _

Margaret Atwood, from  _ Power Politics _

  
  
  


There was a weight that hung in the air around him, seemed to cling to his clothes, to his very skin, leaving him feeling heavy and bruised all over as it settled into his being, his chest, into every cell. It was a burden he was familiar with by now, but it settled differently this time. The weight of loss. The stagnation of guilt. But, now it was filled with a brokenness he hadn’t quite encountered before. He had been bent and banged up pretty badly before, but now...lost in a new and unfamiliar way. The absence of Tony hung heavy over him, the loss of the shield, of the life he had just barely begun to settle into when he had to leave it behind.

And then there was Bucky. Bucky looking softer than he had looked in this century, draped in fabrics, finally wearing something comfortable. Maybe not at ease or happy, but better, and that in and of itself was a victory. While Steve was trying to give him the space and time to recover himself and attempting to find his own self again, too.

Steve knocked on the door to Bucky’s room gently and slipped inside when Bucky told him to come in.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve tried to smile over at him, the smile not quite reaching his eyes, but still happy, happy to see Bucky sitting on the bed, his hair slightly messed up, looking healthier than Steve could have dared to hope.

“Were you sleeping? Didn’t mean to wake you.” Steve wasn’t sure why he was here, but Bucky was a magnetic force to him that was hard to stay away from. Truth was, he wasn’t always entirely sure if Bucky wanted him to stay away or not, and he didn’t want to ask something so vulnerable, not when both of them were still trying to put so many pieces together.

“I was awake, but just barely, must have drifted off,” Bucky looked back to Steve, giving him the smallest hint of a thin-mouthed smile. “No nightmares either.” Bucky offered in response to an unspoken question on Steve’s mind.

Steve knew that nightmares still bothered Bucky, but the fact he could nap now, could find some moments of sleep that were less troubled, was a sign of the progress he was making. While Wakanda might not have been the ideal place for Steve, it made him too restless as grateful as he was to T’Challa and Shuri and everyone else. He had to leave often, run missions with Sam and the rest. Too hard to stay still, not really in his nature to do nothing. But, he came back often to check on Bucky’s progress. While maybe not ideal for Steve, it was just what Bucky needed, and for that Steve would happily put his own needs behind. Bucky needed this, and he was thankful for that. And at this point, where else could they really go anyway?

“That’s really good, Buck, I’m glad,” Steve sat beside him on the bed, nearly a foot of space between them, the light from the sunset making the gold in Bucky’s new arm shine. The room’s windows were large offering a spectacular view of the landscape outside. The sunsets here really were the prettiest Steve had seen. 

Sitting here with Bucky reminded him of a different life, sitting with Bucky, almost like they were now but touching back then, watching the sun begin to fade and the lights from the Manhattan skyline light up. He was glad Bucky had this though. This bright, open room, not dark or reminiscent of a cage in anyway, but a place Bucky could be alone if he needed, could go when everything became too overwhelming, a sanctuary of sorts. Another thing he needed to thank T’Challa and Shuri for, he could never repay them, not that they would expect him to. They had grown to care for Bucky, as well.  


Bucky didn’t say anything, curling his legs up under himself and leaning back against the headboard, eyes shut. Sometimes he didn’t want to talk much, and Steve did his best to sit with him in the silence, but he always broke first.  The room was simple and comfortable, not too many things in it, and the things in it seemed still and serene. Steve knew Shuri had probably had a hand in deciding how to set it up. She was always looking out for Bucky, too, and even though she was so young, her observant eye relieved some of the weight off of Steve’s own shoulders.

Steve’s eyes scanned over Bucky’s face, the smooth planes of his cheeks, the dent in his chin, the thin line of his lips. Lips Steve had known well once, that he had traced in the quinjet on the way to Wakanda but hadn’t touched or felt since.

Bucky let out a small grunt. “Yeah, Steve?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Steve replied, like he’d been caught crossing a line, always worried about crossing a line.

“I know, but you want to.” Bucky’s eyes still closed, but a soft almost smile on his lips.

“There’s a lot to say…”Steve replied, then paused, too intense for what they need right now, got to reel it back a bit, keep things steady. “But, this is nice, too. Just sitting here.”

Steve is sure Bucky could feel his eyes on him, knows Steve is always watching, either directly or out of the corner of his eye. Looks of admiration and desire mixed with worry and concern.

“It’s alright, Stevie,” Bucky opens his eyes, smiling a little more, still thin lipped. He smiles a bit more now, Steve thinks, which is something. He didn’t use Steve’s old nickname often, but sometimes he would offer it up as a way to calm Steve, a small way to let Steve know. A gesture that he appreciated in these soft but strained moments between them. Steve always reaching out and Bucky trying to be present.

Steve reaches out across the space, presses a hand to Bucky’s knee. Notes Bucky’s flinch and their eyes meet, Bucky’s flashing apology at the reaction before his body relaxes again. Steve wants to ask a lot of things, but it’s not time for that. Bucky nods almost imperceptibly and closes his eyes again. Steve thinks he should be grateful for these little moments because they are more than he could have hoped for even a year ago, even after he knew Bucky was alive again, when Bucky had run. But Steve is always wanting, and always punishing himself for the wanting.

Steve allows himself these small moments, running his thumb over the side of Bucky’s knee, just small circles, but it comforts him. He hopes it comforts Bucky, too, but he’s selfish enough to just feel the warmth of the sunlight on the back of his hand and the surety of Bucky’s leg beneath his palm. To feel Bucky’s presence and his body that he exists here with Steve again as something corporeal, not just a memory or a ghost on the run.

The tips of Bucky’s fingers skim against Steve’s wrist, just for a moment, a passing touch. Bucky takes his hand away, hesitates, and then returns his hand to Steve’s wrist, resting it there, and Steve closes his eyes, too.

  
  
  



	2. Shiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly just a continuation of the scene in the first chapter and mostly fluff. Promise to get to more angsty stuff soon!

“It’s nice in here. Warm.” Bucky mumbles, pressed back against the bed, the light from the sun starting to fade away now, but the last rays still keeping the room comfortable, the soft clothes Bucky’s wearing bunched up around his shoulders.

Steve looks over at him from where he is laying beside him. They ended up this way with Bucky nearly drifting off to sleep a few times, almost at ease. Steve can feel his body heat even though they aren’t quite touching, close, but not quite. He wishes they were closer, but this is nice. He can be content with this, would be happy to stay like this for hours, days even.

Steve looks over his face, trying to memorize these moments, keep them tucked away somewhere safe. Wants to remember Bucky like this, where he’s safe and warm and next to Steve. He wants to hoard the feeling and keep it tight to his chest.

“It is,” Steve replies, lifting his head up a bit to get a better look. “I wouldn’t mind staying here like this.” Steve thinks of how tired he is and of how much he’s been running lately. Got to keep moving, stay on the go, staying still for too long means it all catches up to him. He doesn’t know who he is if he doesn’t have someone to save, and maybe he doesn’t know how to not be a captain, a soldier, doesn’t know how to enjoy peace when it could be an option for him. But, he wants Bucky to have it, and if Bucky wanted him to stay here like this, he would be happy to learn what living was like again. Living instead of half-mourning and half-avoiding.

“Stay then.” Bucky doesn’t look at him, says it simply, an invitation that he probably won’t expound on and that Steve would like to ask about, but he doesn’t want to push it further, wants to take the suggestion and leave it at that.

“You know I will,” He pauses, memories flooding his mind, he wonders how many of them Bucky still remembers, but, even in normal situation, what sticks out in the memory of one person doesn’t always in another. “If you want me to,” he adds at the end because he can’t help himself.

“I’m just tired, Steve.” His voice sounds exhausted, a shadow passing over his face, memories and pains that are always close to the surface, and Steve sees the wounding appearing again, the peace that was there quickly troubled again. “Feels safer if you stay…” Steve barely catches that, it’s so muffled and low and drawn out like Bucky’s voice is nearly slurred.

Steve feels his chest tighten at the words, feels fiercely protective and the overwhelming urge to pull Bucky into his arms, hold him against his chest. He tightens his hands into fists, pressing his hands against his own thighs to keep from doing so. It would probably be a little much.

“I know you’re tired, Buck. It’s all right.” Steve doesn’t know what’s all right exactly, but feels the need to reassure him, to tell him that it’s all right, that he’s all right, that they will be alright. Truth is, things are more all right than they’ve been in a while.

“You’ve been gone a lot.” Bucky looks over at him briefly, admitting something, an almost apologetic look. “Now don’t get all feeling guilty. You haven’t done anything wrong...” Bucky explains, talking more than he has in the past hour Steve has been in the room. Steve shuts his mouth at that, the apology he was about to make dying on his lips. Bucky still knows him too well.

“Guess i’m just saying, you don’t have to be gone so much,” Bucky shrugs. “Shuri keeps me company, and badgers me with questions about you, but I wouldn’t mind if you kept me company, too.”

Steve tries to smile at him but feels it break apart. He should have been around more.

“I’m curious about these questions she asks you,” Steve’s fingers brush against the fabric of Bucky’s red robe, and he lets himself play with the fabric slightly, nearly touching Bucky’s side but keeping himself to the fabric instead.

“I bet you would.” There’s an edge of teasing in Bucky’s voice that comforts Steve, reminds him of Bucky from decades ago.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone. I guess...I thought it was what you wanted. That it would be better for you. That you could figure some things out without me breathing down your neck. I thought you wanted space.” Steve looks over, and Bucky meets his eyes for a moment, and Steve tries to rearrange his face so he doesn’t look too sad because he doesn’t want Bucky to worry about him too much.

“I don’t know what I want all the time. But...this is nice.” Bucky nudges his elbow softly against Steve’s side, like he often did when they were kids, a playful gesture, and a familiar one.

Steve knows it’s what Bucky can offer him right now, and he’s learning to take these moments, knows how much effort Bucky is expanding on his behalf.

“Just hard to...think about how I feel, I guess,” Bucky says, putting his arm over his face, his eyes pressed against the crook of his elbow.

“I know, Buck, I’m just glad to be here, and that you’re here,” Steve has about 50 other things to add onto that, but he leaves it there. “We’re both tired. Let’s just get some sleep.”

Bucky’s breathing starts to settle. Steve matching his own breaths alongside, something he would do in that other lifetime, when he was sick or scared, a way to calm himself down.

It takes Steve longer to fall asleep, but before he does, Bucky moves closer to him, shivering in his sleep despite the warmth of the room and of Steve’s body. Steve presses an arm around him, radiating as much energy as he can, to keep out the chill. 

 

 


	3. Mantle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and T'Challa talk about Bucky and about their own friendship. A short chapter exploring the dynamic between Steve and T'Challa, and their friendship, and Steve's feelings of guilt. Some light flirting and ensues because they really admire each other. ;)

  
“You worry too much,” T’Challa’s voice, gentle but a note of concern behind it, his hand resting on Steve’s shoulder, warm and comforting and giving in a way Steve hadn't felt in a long time, drifting to Steve, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“I think you would know a thing or two about that. You have a heavy burden on your shoulders,” Steve pressed his hand to T’Challa’s for a moment before turning to look at him. T’Challa wearing robes of deep blue today, not as intricately embroidered as some of his outfits, more comfortable, but still royal, what a king wears going about his daily activities.

“Concern for our loved ones can weigh heaviest. Even with the responsibility of so many others on your mind,” T’Challa replied, their eyes meeting, warmth reflecting back at one another. Steve’s respect and loyalty for T'Challa ran deep. T’Challa had been there for them when no one else had, had put himself on the line for Bucky, and was still helping to take care of him now, and sometimes to take care of Steve, too. Steve hoped he could be a place for T’Challa to find support in return.

“You don’t have to carry the grief you feel for him alone, Captain,” T’Challa continued, a hint of teasing to his voice at calling him Captain, as familiar as they had become with each other over these past months, Steve enjoyed hearing it. The title sounded good on T’Challa’s lips, even if it was a title he didn’t know how to claim for himself anymore.

Steve’s eyes were drawn to the slight upturn of T’Challa’s mouth as he smiled, smooth and beautiful. “I’ve already burdened you enough. You have enough people’s concerns and emotions to worry about without my own.” Steve smiled in return, feeling the sadness resting on the features of his own face and feeling guilty for it.

“You wear your guilt like a mantle, my friend,” T’Challa sat down on the couch in Steve’s room, looking up at Steve appraisingly. “And you are just that, a friend, as I am yours. I’ve talked to you about my father’s death, about my own insecurities of my shortcomings, of my ability to lead Wakanda into the future, relied on your counsel as I have begun to share the wealth of my people with the world, have I not?”

Steve pressed his hand to T’Challa’s shoulder now, fondness welling up in him, and admiration, for everything he had done for him and for the kind of man he was, someone worth following and trusting in. A king anyone would be lucky to have leading them. Steve had a lot to learn from him, and he was grateful for his friendship.

“I hope I have been helpful to you, have been someone to lend my support to you. Not just because I owe you deeply, even though I do, but because I care about you, as friends do,” Steve smiled a little more deeply.

“Then, speak nothing more of debts and owing each other. We will help each other out. Reciprocate as friends do,” T’Challa replied, looking at Steve knowingly, he had a way of seeing Steve that never felt intrusive. There was an understanding between them of the burden it could be to lead, and it made T’Challa’s presence comfortable to Steve in a way that being around many people did not.

“He is doing better, you know, little by little. Shuri keeps me updated. And I have seen it myself when we spend time together, especially while you are away,” T’Challa offered kindly, but honestly, he was always kind, but never would lie to Steve or tell him half-truths.

“I’m grateful for that, for the support, you’ve offered him. For Shari's friendship. He needs that. To have people he can trust and connect with,” Steve looked off, lost deep in thought for a moment, “I just wish I could do more to help him,”

“It is hard for you to do nothing. You are a man of action, but I think you have helped him more than you know,” he paused, Steve could feel the heat of his gaze and the intensity of his understanding before he continued, “but I know you miss him.”

Steve chuckled at that as it hit to the heart of the matter.

“I do,” Stevie agreed. “I do miss him. But I’ve gotten more of him back than I could have hoped for, and I wish….” Steve sighed, feeling the familiar pangs of guilt and grief rush through him, feelings that never went away, not since he had been pulled out of the ice and woken up to this new world. “That I could stop being so selfish, stop wanting more….”

“It’s all right to feel things, Steve, to want him. You can feel happy about what you’ve gained and feel grief for what you’ve lost. It doesn’t make you selfish,” T’Challa moved over slightly on the couch as Steve moved to sit beside him, their hands nearly touching, both resting on the couch in the space between them.

“I’ll try to take your word for it,” Steve moved his hand slightly, pressing it atop T’Challa’s.

‘Now, come, enough dwelling for now, my friend,” T’Challa said, standing up and pulling Steve up with him by the hand. “There’s work to be done. It will get your mind off of things, and I could use your help.”

“Yes, anything you need,” Steve stood up quickly, something to do would be good for him. Someone to help, and any chance he could get to give back to T’Challa in turn he would be happy to take.


End file.
